


(If You Stay) You'll Be Forgiven

by kissyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 08, Sibling Incest, Spanking, assplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissyn/pseuds/kissyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean work it out.  Porny coda to Season 8, episode 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(If You Stay) You'll Be Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: (Not really, only the vaguest of) Spoilers through Season 8, episode 5. Spanking bordering on assplay.
> 
> Beta: The glorious agenttrojie, who is always there when I need her, like a boss. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not making $$.
> 
> Written for the spnkink_meme prompt, _Don't care why or how, but I just want Sam spanking Dean, particularly Dean's hole._ Title from Famous Last Words, by My Chemical Romance.

Benny leaves them then, after Sam's made it clear he doesn't welcome the idea of a vampire allowed to stand so comfortably next to his brother, and Dean's made it clearer that he pretty much doesn't give a crap. The silence between them is a clenched, taut thing waiting to break open and pour poison out. It lasts through the walk back to the Impala, and through the drive to the nearest motel they can find, and past that even, through until Dean's done scrubbing blood out of his hair and out from under his fingernails in the weak shower. Only when he's shuffling towards his duffle looking to find something to sleep in instead of this tiny, white towel, does it split down the center and bleed words.

Sam lances it open with, "What the hell, Dean? What the _hell_."

And it's not like Dean can keep it secret now, so he goes with truth and his own anger. "He's how I got out of purgatory. He _got me out_ , Sam, and went through a fuckton of bad shit to do it, which is about 100% more than you did. I'd say the guy deserves a little leeway." 

Sam is quiet and still for a while after that, enough time to let Dean pull on boxers and a thin blue undershirt, enough that the smallest of hopes springs up in Dean, and he thinks that maybe, maybe that'll be the end of it for tonight. He could use some sleep about now, it's been almost a day since the last time he laid down. Not that he's unused to being awake and fighting for interminable stretches of time lately. 

Unfortunately, that's not to be. Dean turns and sees Sam's expression, all tight in the mouth and eyes, and he sighs, can't help it when he prods the sorest of spots for them both, "He saved me, Sam. And then he needed my help. I don't turn my back on friends in need."

"But I do," says Sam. "I turned my back on you. Isn't that right, Dean?"

"I didn't say it," Dean says. "Your words, not mine." 

"I thought you were _dead_!" Sam grits, gesturing wildly. Kid could beat the air bloody with frustration like that. "Gone! Forever, gone. I didn't _know_ — "

"Well, you sure didn't try to find out differently, didya, Sammy?" Dean says. It's not really a question anymore. He knows Sam didn't look for him. It sure makes all those times he prayed to himself, _now, let now be when Sam gets me outta this shithole_ , seem pretty freaking stupid.

A beer would be nice, could make this easier to deal with, but they didn't stop any place before falling into this motel. Maybe there's a fifth in the Impala's glove box, though. Dean sits at the edge of his bed, closest to the door, still, always, and reaches for his boots. He tugs them on, leaves them all untied and tongues flopping, before getting up and moving towards the door. Better to pretend Sam's not even in the room for as long as he can manage. 

"No!" Sam says sharply. "No, you're not leaving me —" and yeah, he's in the room, way closer than before too. Physical proof as he grabs Dean by the upper arm hard; he basically just grabs and spin-throws Dean back towards the bed at a really bad angle, so Dean bounces off the edge and he's all off-balance, limbs every which way. Can't help falling awkwardly to his hands and knees on the barely-carpeted floor. 

"Ow, fuck! What the _fuck_!" Dean grunts. Wounded eyes like that, it's sometimes hard to remember that Sam could probably bench press a linebacker on an off-day. 

"You're not walking out on me tonight!" Sam yells. "I'm not losing you again, 'specially not to some blood-sucking monster!"

"Goddammit, Sam!" Dean yells right back, leaning up onto his knees and hitching an elbow over the mattress so he can meet glare for glare. "I just wanted to check if we had any Jim Beam in the car! I'm not gonna bail on you in my freakin' whitie-tighties!" His boxers are actually black, but Dean's never let reality get in the way of a witty one-liner. 

"You don't need a drink," Sam snaps. "Fuck, can't we ever talk without you falling down drunk? Or is that something only vampires and angels get to have with you?"

"Don't you dare!" Dean slams his hand into the bed so hard it shoots tingles up his arms. "Don't you dare bring Cas into this! And don't you dare tell me _what I need!_ You have no idea, no idea!"

He's so, just _so angry_ , feels like he could set the room on fire, or drill a hole through Sam's selfish brain with the force of it. And Sam, fucking Sam, he's got that insane look in his eyes, that soulless, demon-blood drinking, scary as hell powerful rage in his eyes, but he has _no right_ to it, not like Dean, Sam _betrayed_ him, he doesn't get to look like his head will explode if he doesn't kill something in ten seconds. 

"I bet you think Benny does, don't you?" Sam hisses through teeth so tight it can't be healthy. "He saved you, after all. I bet he really knows all about what you need, doesn't he, Dean?"

So this is the direction things are gonna go — Dean almost laughs. What was he thinking! Of course this is how they're gonna work this out. Isn't this how they've always wrapped up the biggest, baddest battles? Nothing like a little incestous fucking to sort out their messy, complicated codependency. 

"Oh, yeah, Sammy," Dean says, grinning. "Benny knows how to hit all the right spots, if you know what I mean."

Just like that, Sam is _on_ him, utterly predictable, huge and angry-clumsily wrestling Dean against the side of the bed, crowding in with his body so Dean's chest is pressed uncomfortably into the edge of the mattress. Dean grunts again, only fighting enough to give the impression of submitting when Sam drapes over his back and pins him for good. On his knees behind Dean, Sam gets the kind of grip he likes best, holds Dean's face mashed into the no doubt foul bedcovers with one hand while the other digs painfully into Dean's thigh, pulling it wider. 

Dean slips down that much farther as his knees are yanked further apart, maybe an inch or so, but just enough for the pressure of the bed at his chest and mouth to make breathing difficult. He's always liked it that way, Sam knows. Rough, reckless, and even slightly miserable, when they can't find any other way to compromise and forgive each other. 

Maybe Sam _does_ know what Dean needs, and the idea of that really does make Dean laugh, choked and muffled, but mockingly out loud. 

"Yeah?" Sam growls. "You think it's funny?"

"Your face is funny," says Dean, and wheeze-chuckles again. Sam snorts too, god, they're both still ten year old boys somewhere beneath the weariness and pain, aren't they? 

"I'm gonna beat your ass so black and blue you'll be lucky to sit without crying for a week," Sam says, breath hot and fast in Dean's ear. "Let's see you laugh through that."

"Promises, promises," Dean taunts, "go ahead, give it your best, big boy." All challenge, and all wanting it, Dean squirms into the cradle of Sam's hips, where Sam's boner is already riding the crack of Dean's ass through jeans and threadbare boxers. Sam humps forward just once, enough to punch a groan out of both of them, before he withdraws and uses the hand that was on Dean's thigh to jerk the back of Dean's boxers down below his ass. 

Weakening elastic pulls taut along the crease where Dean's ass curves and starts to become his upper thighs. In the front, the cloth goes real tight and slip-slide-tugs over the damp head of Dean's hard cock. He could blow from that alone, use the pressure to rub into and go off like a rocket knowing how much it would piss Sam off. _Because_ it would piss Sam off, and because hell, it's been too damn long. Jacking off in the shower will never be the same as having his baby brother fuck the living memory out of him. Frankly, nothing satisfies like Sam's stupidly huge cock stuffing Dean up and carving orgasm out of his bones.

Dean cries out in total surprise when the flat of Sam's palm lands squarely on the right cheek of his ass. That — that's new. He really wasn't expecting that Sam meant 'beat' so literally. But he does, oh shit, he does. Sam's hand comes down again, this time on Dean's left ass cheek, and the rush of burning from each wide handprint curls up Dean's body and into his face, stays there as the fiercest blush he's worn since after his voice stopped cracking in the eleventh grade and he got laid for the first time. 

Sam _spanked_ him, Jesus H. Christ, spanked Dean like he was a naughty child. 

Worse, Sam _keeps_ spanking him. Beats Deans ass again. And again. _And again_. He switches back and forth between each cheek, right left right left, hitting Dean so hard and open-palmed that Dean's body twitches each and every time. Tiny, embarrassing sounds keep startling out of Dean's mouth. He gasps in between the blows, and Sam lets him. He seems to know exactly how much time to give Dean so he can get another shallow breath inside and really feel the hot sensation spreading. Heat like weightlessness, trickling down his thighs, cushioning under his knees on the scratchy floor, but also drifting up smokily, filling Dean's throat and head with blurry goodness. Dean hasn't felt this warmed through since before purgatory. 

Dean grapples with the bedcovers, wrenching them out of alignment with tight fists, even though they bunch up around his head and making breathing even more difficult because Sam's still shoving his head down. Ever since he grew big enough that he could, Sam's gotten off on making sure Dean can't move beneath him. But Dean, he has to hold on to something or he could float right away on the drugging haze of sheer hotness that comes from Sam taking his strong, huge hand and making sure it lands across both of Dean's ass cheeks now. Aiming right for the center, the tenderest part. Doesn't matter that he's suffocating, it's so good. Dean's skin doesn't even feel real anymore, alive like something electric and feral with a mind of it's own. Blow after blow falls down and together they start to sound like raindrops, like hail. Heavy, smacking, and getting Dean wetter and wetter where precome presses constantly from the slit of his cockhead and sweat starts to bead at his temples. 

Abruptly, Sam does let go of Dean's head, and white light flashes across Dean's vision, either from the sudden surge of fresh oxygen or from the way Sam uses it to spread Dean's ass _open_. Digs in with thumb and fingers and pries Dean's sore ass cheeks apart so his hole is just out there, a vulnerable, spasming emptiness _right there_ in plain sight, exposed. The most hidden part of him bared while he still has his boots on. Dean groans and thrashes fitfully against the mattress.

"What about this, Dean?" Sam asks, panting, "Does Benny know how to hit this spot just right?"

Dean just about comes out of his own skin when Sam spanks him exactly there, the sensitive furl where his body opens. Three or four long fingers coming down from on high and landing a blow that makes Dean let loose a thready, plaintive moan. 

"You like that," says Sam, sounds so smug but Dean doesn't give two shits, not when his head's about to come off from overstimulation. Everything _feels_ so much it's becoming akin to numbness, a swirl of mixed signals too good to pick apart. Neurons going down like levees in a flood. Still, Dean hears Sam ask, "Bet Benny didn't do this for you, did he?"

Sam spanks Dean on his hole again, so fucking hard it hurts, then rubs his fingers in, massages so the skin catches and tugs, little sparks of promise down to Dean's toes. He repeats that experimentally, each blow a bit more forceful, until he finds the perfect level of strength to exert. He smacks Dean over and over, and Dean rocks forward, then back, ass tilted for more, _over and over_ , biting down on blanket to keep all his embarrassing begging at bay. He never even imagined anything like what's happening to him, his little brother spanking his ass and his hole past the point of all reason. Quiet, happy pain and pulses so good. Dean's mindless with it, finding a new peaceful space in his head where all the knots of his life just clear up and go away under waves of pleasure.

"I asked you a question," says Sam, pausing to pet the tip of one finger around the throbbing circle of Dean's hole. "Can Benny give you this, Dean?"

Dean just groans. 

"You want my fingers?" Sam asks, leaning close, teasing Dean with small pushes into his hole not even one-knuckle deep. "Want me to stretch you and fuck your sore, red little ass? Answer my question!"

"No," Dean answers, into the spit-wet blanket. "No, he — not like that. It's not like with you."

"Only me," Sam demands.

"Only," Dean nods frantically. "Only."

One word is all it takes for Dean to give Sam what he needs. Finally, Sam twists one long finger straight up inside him and fills some of the emptiness Dean can't help carrying around inside him. Dean shoves back onto it, spine arching to get it deep, like maybe he can keep it, keep Sam under his skin, inside him, in a pocket close by, and never feel hollowly alone waiting for the next moment Sam will turn his back. He grinds on that one dry finger while Sam grapples to yank one of their duffles closer without moving too far from Dean. 

Dean knows when Sam succeeds in finding the lube because Sam pulls out, spanks him one last, brutal time, and then fucks into Dean's hole with two cold, slick fingers instead. He squirts more lube out into the raw, beaten crack between Dean's burning ass cheeks, cold so wonderfully soothing and spreading, getting him real sloppy slick as he twists his fingers out and in, catching more lube with each new thrust inside Dean's hole. Dean needs that much and more to take Sam's monster cock as deep as he likes. 

Three fingers make Dean's fingers spasm in the bedcovers. Shit, it's like the first time all over again. Dean's 20 and about to get fucked by his teenaged brother because Sam threw him down, bloodied his lip, and asked him to give it up for the sake of peace between them. _Can't do anything but think about,'bout you_ Sam had said. _Please, gotta let me, Dean. Just once._

So Dean did. Does. And loves every sick minute of it. Loves Sam scissoring all three fingers as much as he can, making Dean gape, over-ready. About to get fucked still wearing his shirt, boxers, and boots. 

"Gonna give you what you need," Sam promises like a threat, nudging his cock up against Dean's hole while his fingers are still rubbing up inside. 

"Bring it," Dean manages, reaching one hand around to grab Sam's ass and haul him into a long, heavy-panting haphazard thrust along Dean's smacked-hot ass. Then Sam gets his cock in past the bruised curl of Dean's hole, pulling his fingers out at the same time so the stretch brutalizes Dean's body, and he's aching through his inner thighs and up into his gut from the depth and width of it. Sam's cock pries him open to the core as he pushes deep as he can. He clenches both arms around Dean's waist and nearly lifts Dean off the floor trying to grind further in. Dean just leans back into Sam's body, grips Sam's forearms and lets Sam bear him up, up, fuck him up higher on the scale of fucked up one thrust at a time. 

They fuck oh so good, with the familiarity and remorselessness of family. Dean stares at the ceiling blindly, head tipped back making him dizzier, and Sam turns his face into Dean's hair and neck, clenches his eyes so tightly tears leak out and blend into Dean's sweat. Salt and water, tools that make them safer. 

This is their solution. Reductionism. This is their _I don't care, I forgive you, I love you_. Dean spread wide practically sitting in Sam's lap as Sam slams up into him with the force of something supernatural. This is how they make their choice, _you above everyone else, you and me against the world, tear it all down to the foundations for you_ , and this is how they prove it to each other.

* * *

****

End


End file.
